


Thursday Afternoon

by Kaleran



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe- Javert Lives, Fluff, Kissing, M/M, Slow Burn, Snow, except not really, this is maybe literally the gayest thing i'll ever write, why is everything i write fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-17
Updated: 2017-01-17
Packaged: 2018-09-18 03:22:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9365768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaleran/pseuds/Kaleran
Summary: Inspector Javert had never thought of himself as a being who could be loved, nor had he ever thought he could find love in himself to bestow on another. A year and a half of Thursdays changes him.





	

Inspector Javert had never thought of himself as a being who could be loved, nor had he ever thought he could find love in himself to bestow on another. He was the law, he was justice itself, and there was no place for love in a man with a heart of stone. He was not attractive in neither appearance nor personality. This did not bother him. Once, it had even been a point of pride. Woman did not interest him and neither did the prospect of friendship with another man of his station. He was perfectly content to be alone and honestly preferred it that way.

Even so, in the later years of his life, Javert found himself in love.

He did not fall in love in the small hours of the morning of a Thursday in early June when an ex-criminal-turned-saint talked him, begged him, and ultimately dragged him off the parapet of Pont au Change. In fact, Javert had fought him and spat at him, hating him for everything he was. He had not wanted to be saved nor understood nor reasoned with; yet this man had done all that for him and more that night. This man shattered his old self, driving a spike into his heart of stone and breaking it into unusable pieces, somehow finding the smallest seed of humanity within the remains and replanted it in his rib cage where his stone heart used to be. This man showed him forgiveness he did not deserve and offered him friendship that he had never intended on taking.

"Come down, Javert, and we can speak of this in the morning," Valjean had said in a tired but gentle voice, his strong hand like iron on his wrist, and Javert had bowed his head to him and stepped down.

Javert did not fall in love on a sunny afternoon when he had appeared in front of Valjean's home, many weeks after the bridge without being coerced or promised into doing so. Valjean had welcomed him with a brilliant smile, one that lingered, genuinely happy to see him. Javert had forced his eyes away, unsure of how to respond. No one had ever willingly spent time in his presence outside of work, and even then it was professional. He had never been smiled at like that before. In his breast, the seed Valjean had planted shivered and sprouted, it’s roots burrowing their way into the space just left of his ribcage.

"Javert, you are always welcome here," Valjean had told him, a warm hand on his arm and that smile still on his face.

He did not fall in love that winter in between shouting matches with this man who had so stubbornly befriended him. Valjean had been ill, refusing to recover and completely convinced that his daughter no longer loved him now that she was married. Javert had been livid at him; returning almost every day to force broth down his throat and to remind him of everything Valjean had done for him after forcing him to live. For the first time, Javert had someone he could lose and it terrified him. The vines from what he now knew to be his heart feeling like they circled his throat and choked his breathing.

"Javert," Valjean had said weakly, "you should not worry so much about me."

On a Thursday, when he had finally gone against Valjean's will to tell his daughter about his declining health, it had been out of obligation. Valjean had already saved his life- it was time for Javert to repay him. It had nothing to do with how terrified and helpless he felt standing at Valjean's bedside, watching his chest rise and fall with his shallow breathing, waiting for the moment when it would stop. Cosette had flown to him immediately, the truth coming out at last with Javert there to correct any misunderstandings. She did not hold her father’s past against him, just as Javert had told him hundreds of times.

"Javert," Valjean had said, grasping his hand in his own weak one when Cosette and Marius had their backs turned, "thank you."

"It was nothing," Javert had replied after a pause that was too long, fingers clenching ever so slightly in Valjean's hand. His heart trembled and the roots of the green thing in his breast grew thick and strong to hold it steady.

He did not fall in love during Valjean's recovery when he would hold his arm too tightly when Javert would help him walk again. They made careful trips around Valjean's sitting room, and then when spring came, the little garden behind his home. He learned how to stop jumping when Valjean would touch his arm or the back of his hand lightly, far after Valjean had regained his health. Javert ignored just how often Valjean would touch him and how they seemed to linger on his skin for long after the touch was gone.

"Javert," Valjean had asked, touching his wrist lightly to get his attention. "Look. The trees are growing their leaves again."

"I see," Javert had said, not really understanding, but feeling a stirring in his chest like leaves unfurling with Valjean's light touch.

In the spring, Valjean would garden and Javert would watch him from a distance, refusing to take part. Summer found him with his hands in the soil, cursing out the plants and Valjean's stubborn persuasion. Gardening frustrated him and he did not enjoy it, but it made Valjean happy so he continued to join him. Valjean would correct him with never ending patience and smile at him when he though Javert could not see him.

"I still say that I am no good at gardening," Javert had complained to him, dirt on his face.

"Be patient, Javert," Valjean had replied to him, smiling indulgently at him. "Give it time and it will grow."

Summer turned into autumn and still Javert did not fall in love. The soil became too hard and cold to work and they took to walking around the city. Javert would tell him stories of criminals he had arrested in that building, on this corner, in that alleyway, always watching Valjean from the corner of his eye. It would not do to make him uncomfortable or remind him of things best left buried. Valjean never seemed to mind, hanging onto Javert's every word and sometimes injecting comments on his recklessness, to which Javert would only roll his eyes and remind Valjean of his own reckless actions.

"What kind of peacekeeper would I be if I did not pursue?" he had defended, only pretending to be irritated.

"What kind of criminal would be if I did not run?" Valjean had said back, a smile threatening to curve his lips. "Really, Javert, you should be more careful."

At the first snow, they shortened their walks and had retreated to Valjean's sitting room for tea and discussion. Javert would sit too close to the fire and more than once Valjean had to tell him he had once again singed his coat or his trousers, smiling at his carelessness. Cosette and Marius would join them on occasion, bringing gifts of biscuits or nice bread or other such things that Valjean could certainly afford but would never buy for himself. Javert would try to melt into the background as to not intrude, but always was brought into the conversation by one of the others. Valjean would smile more with Cosette around, taking her smaller hands in his as Javert looked on.

"Are you happy, Javert?" Valjean had asked him once after Cosette had left.

"Of course I am," he had replied honestly, thinking of the look on Valjean's face when he had been holding both of Cosette's hands in his. His smile had brought warmth to Javert's chilled limbs, feeling very much like the sun, and the green vines growing from his heart reached for him.

It was a Thursday when Javert finally fell in love. 

There was nothing about this Thursday that separated it from any other Thursday that winter. There was no special event, no strange happenstance, absolutely nothing special about the day that Javert fell in love. The stars had not aligned to shine down on him, the moon and sun and all the planets in their natural positions. It was simply a regular Thursday.

Valjean had suggested they go for a walk before it become too cold to do so. It was already too cold for Javert's taste, but then again, his scarf was worn and his gloves thin and he had always hated the cold anyway. They had gone to the gardens, Valjean going on about how the trees lose their leaves and lie dormant for the winter, looking like dead things, only to bloom again in brilliant greens come spring. Javert was only half listening, burying his face in his scarf and wishing his gloves had a few less worn places in them. It had started snowing; a cold, dry powder that sparkled like tiny crushed diamond as it fell, covering everything in glittering dust. Snow annoyed him, no matter how pretty it may look. It was cold and wet and soaked through his boots and thus it inconvenienced him.

Javert turned to Valjean, a sharp remark about the cold on his tongue, but never had the chance to say it before it withered and died there. The snow had caught in Valjean's hair and suddenly he did not find it so irritating when it made Valjean look like some kind of holy being. It sparkled like stardust and had caught on his eyelashes, catching the winter sunlight until Javert was almost certain he was being blinded by it. He was beautiful. Javert could not look away even if he tried, the sight dazzling him.

"Nature is quite astounding," Valjean said.

"That it is," Javert had agreed blindly, having no idea what Valjean was talking about. "Quite amazing." If nature could make something as annoying as snow could make Valjean look as magnificent as this, then Javert would wholeheartedly agree.

Valjean looked at him and smiled. It was one of his small half smiles that were so rare but so genuine and this one took Javert's breath away. Valjean been handsome when he had been turned away; now that he was facing him Javert was almost sure that this was not Valjean at all but instead some angel from Heaven that happened to look like him. His heart lurched in his chest in a way that could not possibly be natural and some emotion he did not recognize ran singing joyfully through his veins.

"Javert?" Valjean asked, and Javert had never realized how different his name sounded when Valjean said it. In his life it had always been used like a lash- sharp and almost not a name at all, something to keep him in line and a warning to those against him that the wolf-dog was among them. Valjean said his name gently, like a caress, never sharp and never wielded as a weapon.

"Javert? Are you alright?" Valjean laid a hand on his arm and Javert fought not to lean into it. He forced himself to look away from the dazzling image of Valjean, feeling his cheeks heat and his heart beat wildly in his chest. They had walked in the snow before, the white flakes catching in their hair on their clothes, and yet somehow this time was different.

"Yes, I am fine," Javert said with an effort, unable to help himself from glancing at him again. He had not been this flustered since he had first started as a guard decades ago.

Valjean wet his lips and Javert's eyes were drawn there in an instant. The snow had caught in his beard as well, his entire face framed by tiny flakes that reminded him of stars. Valjean's lips were pink and dry, somehow appealing although Javert had no idea what could be appealing about a pair of lips. He had never noticed Valjean's lips before.

"You are going red." Valjean was amused, his smile crinkling the corners of his eyes now in a manner that did something to make Javert's heart spasm and expand, like a plant that had grown too large and had broken the pot it had been planted in.

"It is only the cold," he excused, knowing quite well it was not the cold at all but this new awareness of his friend beside him. In fact, the cold did not seem to bother him at all anymore when Valjean was looking at him like that.

"Do you want to go back?"

Javert would not care if he died out here of hypothermia if it meant Valjean would keep that expression on his face.

"If that is what you wish," he said, realizing too late how softly he had said it, how much affection had leeched into the words before they left his lips. Valjean had searched his face, then had pulled away his hand that had been resting for too long on Javert's arm.

"I do not want you to get ill if the cold is getting too you," said Valjean, turning them around and leading them back to his home.

Even after the snow had melted from Valjean's hair and no longer sparkled like tiny stars around his face from time in front of his fireplace, he continued to be handsome in a way that Javert had been somehow oblivious to before. His lungs ceased to function whenever Valjean would look at him, choked with vines, his breath catching ever so slightly when Valjean touched him in passing. Their conversation was hardly different from average, yet Javert felt almost drunk off of the sensations. He willed himself to act the same as always but could not quite keep himself from sneaking glances at him whenever Valjean turned his back.

It was only after he returned to his apartment that he realized that what he was feeling was love. He had, quite suddenly and inexplicably, fallen in love Valjean.

Perhaps that was not the best term to use, for Javert realized that he had been falling in love for many months. It had happened so slowly that he himself had not been made aware of it until Valjean had smiled at him that afternoon with snow like jewels in his hair and it had hit him all at once. It had grown in him, perhaps from that very first seed Valjean had planted in him on the bridge when he replaced Javert's heart of stone.

Of course, he panicked first. Valjean was his first and only friend and he did not dare ask for anything more. He was acutely aware of how incredibly lucky he was that Valjean had even befriended him in the first place, considering all they had been to each other in the past. Before, all Javert had wanted was to see Valjean back in prison. Now, he wanted anything but that. He wanted to touch Valjean and he wanted to be able to kiss him and he wanted Valjean to look at him like he did sometimes in that way that caused his breath to catch in his chest. For the first time in his life, Javert wanted and it scared him.

For the next few days, he grappled with his new emotions, pushing them down as to be as unnoticeable as possible, but ultimately failing whenever he came into proximity with Valjean. Valjean did not seem to notice the change in him although Javert was certain he was acting differently. There was no possible way he could not notice how Javert could not take his eyes off of him or how he sometimes responded late to his questions. Valjean would still touch him casually with fingers that lingered and would smile at him the way he always did.

By the following week, Javert was almost convinced he did those things to purposefully drive Javert insane. The little touches to his arms were always light and never stayed long enough for Javert to truly appreciate them, his smiles too quick and muted whenever Javert could catch him at it.

The possibility of Valjean returning his affections had crossed his mind, but the idea seemed so far-fetched that he hardly dared to consider it. It was absurd. If Valjean were to take a romantic partner, he would not take a man and certainly not take Javert. He was not handsome nor pleasant to be around. There was nothing appealing about him that Valjean could possibly like. These same thoughts had come to him before, when Valjean was first insisting on friendship, but now they seemed worse. Friendship was one thing- romantic affection quite another. Javert tried to think back to when Valjean had started doing these things, trying desperately to find correlations despite his own doubts, only to continually be distracted by the man himself.

The following Thursday, they were in Valjean's garden and he was tying long straight pieces of wood to the saplings he had planted in the summer. Something about reinforcing them so the winter winds would not blow them over, but Javert had not really understood what he had been talking about. He was perfectly content to simply watch him work, admiring Valjean's strong back as he leaned around the small tree and his quick fingers that were red from cold but still agile enough to die knots in the twine.

"I think that one should be finished," said Valjean, coming to stand by Javert's side and snapping him out of his thoughts. It had started snowing again. "What do you think?"

Javert could not even remember what kind of tree it was, although Valjean had certainly mentioned it, and in that moment could hardly even think about trees at all. Valjean was bare-headed, his hat falling off whenever he had leaned over to the point where he had simply left it with Javert, the snowflakes once again catching in his hair. These did not refract the light the way the others had, but they still had the effect of making Valjean look almost etheral. His nose and lips were pink in the cold, distractingly so.

A snowflake landed on his bottom lip, melting almost immediately. Javert had tried not to imagine how Valjean's lips would feel when he was alone in his cramped apartment. He had failed. They would be warm, certainly, for Valjean was practically a furnace all by himself, but how soft were they? Would they be rough, like his hands, or smoother? Now the thoughts swam to the forefront of his mine and he found himself consumed with the desire to know for himself just how Valjean's lips felt.

He was moving before he knew what he was doing. Just one step and he was in Valjean's space, his clumsy hand on Valjean's jaw as he brought their lips together. It only lasted a second, enough for him to note that they were indeed warm, before Valjean made a sound of surprise and he realized what he was doing. He drew back, taking several steps away from him, mortified.

"I am- I apologize," he stumbled over his words, feeling his face heat immediately despite the cold. "That was inappropriate. I overstepped my bounds, please forgive me. Forget I did that. I will not do so again."

His entire body was tense, waiting for Valjean to reprimand him, to order him out of his home and out of his life. He wanted the Seine to swallow him whole like he had not desired in over a year. As it was, his chin was buried into his scarf in a poor attempt to hide from Valjean's startled eyes.

Valjean was quiet for several seconds, staring at him blankly. Javert felt pinned under his gaze, unable to move or look away.

"Oh," Valjean said at last, cheeks turning pink. "You should not apologize."

Javert blinked at him. "What?"

"I did not mind it." The pink had evolved into a full blush, his eyes flicking away before returning to Javert's face. "I would not mind if you did it again."

They stared each other for long seconds, snow falling between them, hardly comprehending the implications of their words. Javert could not look away. Valjean had a small, anxious smile, one that made Javert's breath catch to see. It made Valjean, who had lifted boulders and carts and even Javert's own heavy soul, seem as fragile as finely sculpted ice- one wrong movement and he would shatter. The smile was overwhelmingly hopeful while also holding immense amounts of pain. It hurt him to see that much pain on Valjean's face when he has already suffered so much at Javert's hand.

"Then- do you- may I...?" Javert could not even fully form the question when he found his voice.

"Yes." Valjean stepped into his space, understanding anyway, or maybe simply wanting just as much as he did. It seemed like an impossible dream that Valjean would want him in this way. He was half convinced that as soon as his lips touched Valjean's again, the man would turn to smoke and Javert would wake up.

Javert had never kissed anyone before now. As such, he had no earthly idea how to go about it. The first time he had hardly been aware of what he was doing. He hesitated for a second, attempting to think about logistics and failing, then leaned forward. Their noses bumped painfully and he pressed forward too hard. It was nothing like what he had done before.

"I apologize," he said, pulling back, now flushed with shame. "I have never-"

"There is no need to apologize," Valjean insisted, brushing Javert's bangs out of his eyes and stilling him instantly. His hand cupped his face carefully, his exposed fingers frigid on his skin. "I have no experience with this either." Javert was helpless in his hand and could not help but lean into the touch. It made Valjean smile which eased some of the tension in his chest.

"Can we try again?" Valjean asked. Javert could only nod, not trusting himself to speak, then Valjean had drawn him close and pressed their lips together far more gently than Javert had.

This time, their noses did not knock together and Valjean's lips were soft and warm under his own. Such a small point of contact should not make him feel as if he was being warmed by a fire from the inside out even out in the cold as they were, Javert thought, but that was how he felt when he kissed Valjean.

"See? We are getting better," said Valjean after pulling apart just far enough to say the words, his breath warm on his skin. Javert did not even have to see his lips to know that he was smiling.

"Again?" Javert asked, far too eagerly. His hands hovered uncertainly over Valjean's waist, wanting to touch him but unsure of what boundaries existed between them now. Valjean indulged him, kissing him longer than before and drawing a small, pleased sound from him when he passed his tongue over Javert's bottom lip. When he retreated, Javert chased after him, unwilling to part from Valjean's lips.

"I did not know I would like this so much," Valjean admitted, looking up at Javert with a smile as bright as the sun itself. He could not help but smile back, his lips drawing back over his gums in what he knew to look more like a snarl from looking in the mirror. Valjean did not seem to mind.

"Neither did I," Javert said. He never wanted to stop kissing Valjean now that he knew what it was like. "How long have you...?" he asked, trailing off. Javert was not exactly sure what he was asking himself. How long had Valjean wanted this, when had he decided that Javert was somehow suitable for him, a hundred other questions swam to his mind.

"I have wanted this for a year," Valjean admitted, smiling softly at him. "Since you went and fetched Cosette for me last winter."

That was quite a long time to wait. With very smile, every touch, every invitation he had wanted him like this, and still he had waited.

"How long for you?" Valjean asked him in return, catching his hand and squeezing it.

"Two weeks," he replied honestly, then thought back. That had only been the realization. The feelings themselves did not start only a week ago. "Since the bridge, perhaps" he corrected, but that did not seem right either. He frowned. Neither answer seemed adequate. "I am unsure."

"It was Thursday then too, on the bridge," Valjean said, his thumb rubbing soft circles on the back of Javert's hand absently. The motion was distracting.

He wanted to ask why Valjean remembered that fact and how he managed an entire year of these feelings and if he was sure that he wanted him, Javert, of all people, when he could have anyone. He wanted to ask Valjean if he could teach him gentleness in this way as well since Javert had never learned. Instead, he asked a different question which was, in retrospect, not so different after all.

"Will you kiss me again?"

Valjean smiled at him, full and bright, squeezing his hand tightly as to never let it go.

"Javert, I will always love to kiss you," he said, and the way he said ' _love_ ' made Javert's human heart thump in his chest. He was no longer stone. This man had unmade him, then helped him pick up the pieces and build himself anew and somehow loved him for it. The seed he had in his breast for a heart was wrapped in green vines and unfurled leaves, but it was strong and proud under his ribs and it beat only because this man willed it.


End file.
